“I think Mickey’s going to meet us there,” Arno said.
It was Thursday night and he was with Liesel. They were headed to a party at Spice Market, on Thirteenth Street. There’d been an opening at Arno’s parents’ gallery for a new artist called Bolander Berkman, who Arno liked, but Liesel had nixed going. She’d said she wasn’t into art, probably because her parents were.
“Mickey?”
“Yeah, my friend. You didn’t meet him yet. He just broke up with his girlfriend again last night, and he’s pretty upset.”
“Oh. Well I hope he doesn’t make the whole night mopey.”
Arno had taken to wearing a long black cashmere trenchcoat and he had his hands stuffed down low in the pockets. They walked in front of a huge poster for a new play at The Public Theater and Liesel glanced at it without seeming to comprehend what it was.
“I saw Topdog/Underdog at The Public with my parents,” Arno said.
“What’s that?”
“A play.”
“Oh. I hope Nina Katchadorian is here tonight. She’s awesome.”
“What’s awesome about her?”
“You have to meet her. She’s so funny.”
“Why?”
“OH, SHUT UP!”
Arno stared at Liesel. He wasn’t shocked at all—she loved to yell in the middle of the street. She loved it when people stared at her. She started laughing hysterically, and ran ahead of him. God she was annoying. And then Arno opened his eyes wide—he’d never quite put it to himself like that before. Uh-oh. In a flash he realized that here he was, headed in girlfriend direction with someone he kind of couldn’t stand.
“Hurry,” she yelled. So they ran ahead. When they got to Spice Market, Mickey was in front of the restaurant straddling a motorcycle. Even though it was freezing out, he was wearing nothing but a black Joy Division T-shirt, torn white shorts, and white combat boots.
“Dude,” Mickey wailed, and threw his arms around Arno. Liesel watched from a few feet away.
“I’m Liesel,” she said. Then louder, “I’m Liesel.” But nobody was paying attention to her.
“I blew it with Philippa.”
“Oh man, I’m sorry.” Arno kept an arm around Mickey. “Let’s get you a drink.”
Then Liesel said, “I’m not sure you can get in here dressed like that.”
The two boys stared at her.
“It’s like, winter and nighttime,” Liesel said. “And you’re dressed for summer and daytime.”
“So?”
“You look like one of the guys who fixes my parents’ mopeds at our estate in Jamaica.”
Mickey turned to Arno. Mickey was bleary-eyed and at the point of crying. Arno tried to shake his head, to convey, like, stop, no. I know she’s annoying. But I only figured it out about a minute and a half ago.
“I mean, I’m not sure I want to be seen with you,” Liesel said.
“Let’s just go in,” Arno said. Liesel shrugged and glared. A doorman swept them inside. They were immediately plied with champagne and little crackers with chunks of raw tuna on top, covered with caviar. Arno and Mickey stood there, munching.
“NINA!” Liesel yelled and ran across the room and embraced a short girl who was wearing sunglasses that almost entirely hid her face.
Arno looked around the restaurant. The whole place was decorated to look like the inside of a Chinese opium den, with lights covered in purple and pink fabric, strings of glass beads everywhere, and lots of heavily carved tables and chairs. At the far end of the room was a group of twenty high school kids lolling on dozens of big embroidered cushions, all of whom Liesel seemed to know. They were air-kissing and laughing and braying and spilling drinks all over each other. Several of the girls were openly staring at Arno.
“What the fuck am I doing?” Arno asked, suddenly.
“I don’t know, man.” Mickey tossed back the champagne and set the glass on a table where some businessmen were huddled. They glared at him.
“Philippa broke up with you?”
“Yeah.” Mickey snagged another glass of champagne and some food from a silver plate. He stood there for a moment, chewing thoughtfully, and then he turned to Arno and said, “You know, your new girlfriend was pretty rude to me just now.”
“I know.” Arno turned up the collar of his overcoat, even though it was really warm in the restaurant. “Wait here for a second, will you?”
Arno moved quickly across the room and got close to Liesel. He tapped her on the shoulder.
“Just a moment,” she said. But she grabbed his hand at the same time and rubbed it up and down her back, and then over the place where a normal person’s butt would have been.
“Hey,” Arno said.
Liesel turned around suddenly. “Could you please wait a moment? We’re deciding whether we should all go uptown or not. I think we will, though. This place is lame.”
“Well, I’m not going with you.”
“Why not?”
“You were rude to my friend.”
Liesel smiled. She had an icy quality around her eyes. Arno could see that they were dusted with something sparkly, but it was more than that.
“Well your friend is kind of gross.”
“Really?”
“Like, if I were wearing shiny Helmut Lang slippers, he could shine them. Or if I were driving one of those cute new Mercedes two-doors, he could polish it.”
Arno burst out laughing. And then he realized he was laughing at himself. Why was he putting up with this person? He didn’t even particularly like having a girlfriend, and it wasn’t as if looks were the most important thing to him in the first place. Why would they be? He was definitely the best-looking person he knew. Or at least that’s what he told himself right then.
“I’m out of here,” he said.
“You know what you’re doing, don’t you?”
“Yeah.” Arno took the glass of champagne Liesel was holding, finished it, and handed it back to her. “You’re an incredibly wild person. I’m going to miss hanging out with you.”
“You’re going to really miss what we were going to do tonight.”
“I’m not sure that’s true.”
“Why?”
“Because at the end of the day, even though you’re really fun, you’re an unbelievably snobby bitch.”
On the way out, Arno locked eyes with a few girls. One was clearly a model and Arno had long ago stopped bothering with models. But another was probably part of the random high school contingent who had been invited to the opening, and she looked really nice. Arno thought, I’m Arno. I’m hot. I’ll be okay.
“Let’s go,” Arno grabbed Mickey and they made their way out. “It looks like I’m not going back to having one girlfriend in particular for a while.”
“You and me both,” Mickey said.
Then they went outside and got into an argument over whether Mickey should drive the Triumph home, since he’d managed to slam down about five glasses of champagne in the fifteen minutes they’d been inside. Arno grabbed the key out of the ignition, where Mickey had left it.
“Gimme it,” Mickey said.
“No.” And then Arno pushed Mickey and his borrowed motorcycle the eleven blocks home.